


keepsakes hold power

by dustandstatic



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drowning, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Partial Nudity, Poisoning, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Spoilers, Substance Abuse, pre full release
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandstatic/pseuds/dustandstatic
Summary: To the naked eye they look no different from ordinary trinkets, lucky charms perhaps, simple objects the dead often keep on them in the grave.Maybe they are. Maybe it’s Zagreus that makes them hold power.(concept: god's keepsakes and blessings change zagreus' appearance and behavior during an escape. thanatos takes notice.)
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 287
Kudos: 4405





	1. blood-filled

**Author's Note:**

> this is very different from the stuff ive written so far so please mind the tags before reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Achilles was right. Maybe he _was_ the god of blood.

The tiled hall felt cold under his palm, cold under his feet as he landed and distantly, Zagreus heard the screams of war. A sickly red glow greeted him when he straightened himself. He recognized Lord Ares’ bloody hue and reached out to accept his message. As soon as contact was made Zagreus felt his blood grow hotter, his fingertips prickle with the will to fight. When Ares' voice faded Zagreus knew the only thing that would fill the quiet were the roars of his enemies, dying.

The first few wretches that fell to him in that hall did so in a mess of ichor and dust and Zagreus could tell it was the beginning of something beautiful.

Tartarus’ cells danced with every door he passed, and Zagreus danced with them. Each new room was quickly reduced to rubble, broken pillars and fragments of stone forming a makeshift mass grave to the now twice-dead who stood in his way and above it all, Ares’ glow, a star leading toward ruin. Zagreus followed its light.

(Megaera once told him she'd rather be on his bad side than on his father's. Zagreus would change her mind.)

He didn’t care for Asphodel, not the sweltering heat nor the suffocating smoke. All Zagreus chased was a surging kind of pleasure as Stygius carved through soul after soul, twisting its edge inside empty chests, slicing through limbs puppeteered by his father. Blades bloomed where he stepped, their metallic chimes made sweeter by the screams that followed. Zagreus could feel it in his core, an army of repressed anger and unspoken curses finally marching to war. With every blessing he felt sharper, sword and tongue alike and his usually playful taunts quickly turned into menacing wishes for a plethora of painful deaths.

He was already marked a traitor. It didn't matter whether or not he showed mercy now. Nothing was going to convince these shades of his true intentions, so why bother to keep the unseemly unseen. Why try to hide this burgeoning want for blood. Wasn't that expected of hell-spawn, daemons, _monsters_ such as him? Zagreus was long overdue retribution. They'd all suffer as he had. No, they'd suffer more.

He never imagined it would feel so good, letting his more violent urges run free. (Then again, he never imagined having such urges to begin with.) With each blood-red blessing power grew inside of him, rushing through his body to spur it into delivering more violence. More power. More death. Whenever a fight ended Zagreus' disappointment manifested as an unrelenting itch behind his eyes, an irritation that could only be relieved by another fight. So he fought, ripping wavemakers apart by the arms, chopping every single snake off a gorgon's head before feeding its hissing mouth his blade. Nothing remained in his path through Asphodel but dead flesh burning atop piles of broken bones, and Zagreus’ crusade continued. 

By the time he reached the hydra's chamber he was all red eyes and blood lust - but bone can't bleed, so instead Zagreus cut through its many jaws like bread, the edge of his blade serrated with harmful intent. It fell and Zagreus stood, panting, splinters of skull and spine building a shrine around him. Splatters of hacked up fire in the corners of his vision looked enough like blood to satisfy. Maybe Achilles was right. Maybe he _was_ the god of blood.

Arriving upon Elysium, Zagreus boasted an aura of destruction. The exalted warriors dwelling here felt closer to actual mortals than any foe he’d fought thus far and Zagreus found himself oddly thrilled as he watched their bodies jerk and thrash towards the violent deaths he offered them.

He understood, now. Zagreus saw why Lord Ares inspired so many, why his power rivaled that of the heavens and the sea. Why he hungered for more. For war. Feeling his body meld with Ares’ blades was exhilarating: no concerns, no conscious thought but tearing through any who opposed him. Zagreus wished he could stay in that shape forever, cut his way up and out of the earth, make both above and below regret having denied him his freedom. He had become a weapon and this time, his enemies were the ones without escape. 

*

A vaguely familiar sounding toll distracts Zagreus from Ares’ guidance. Thanatos materializes a few steps away. He frowns when it takes Zagreus a second too long to acknowledge his presence.

“Zagreus?” he says cautiously.

But Zagreus does not answer. He’s having trouble focusing. It’s too quiet. Too peaceful. It hurts.

“You look...different,” Thanatos says, but before he can say any more Zagreus lunges past him towards a longspear as it spawns in, not one, but two eyes red. Thanatos decides to ask later - for now, there is a battle that needs to be fought.

Thanatos soon realizes Zagreus has no intention of fighting that battle together. It’s not uncommon for them to finish off each other’s targets from time to time, but Zagreus isn’t even giving Thanatos a chance to raise his scythe. He’s annihilating wave after wave of enemies, ripping them limb from limb, piercing through their lifeless lungs, stringing their souls on the length of his blade. 

And while Thanatos has enjoyed watching Zagreus fight before, something about this feels off. Wrong, the way Zagreus purposely allows those panicked one-eyed spirits to recover only to carve them open again, and again, and again _and againand--_

“Zagreus. We’re done here." Thanatos has to repeat himself before Zagreus even seems to notice he’s there. “It’s clear.” 

When Zagreus meets his eyes Thanatos actually backs up a little. His intimidating aura doesn't belong. The anger in his gaze looks unnatural.

“I had it covered,” Zagreus says, breathless and ragged. Only now does Thanatos notice he’s bleeding. Just how long has he been going like this? How did he get this far without tearing himself apart?

“So it seems,” Thanatos replies, unsure of how to proceed.

A flash of reflected light catches his eye. Thanatos looks to the ground to see a small vial filled with blood. As he starts to reach for it he suddenly finds himself flung aside and before he can recover from the impact, Zagreus is on him. A single ichor-stained hand grabs him by the throat and slams him into the ground with a force Thanatos does not recognize.

“The heart,” Zagreus demands. His chest is heaving and his eyes look bloodshot. “Just give me the heart, and go.”

And while Thanatos is not afraid of Zagreus, he worries what it is _inside_ of Zagreus that’s doing...whatever this is. Zagreus’ lips are chapped, he’s got small cuts and scrapes decorating his cheekbones like freckles and a feverish flush spreads from his throat all the way down to his heart. Thanatos struggles to swallow under the pressure of Zagreus’ crushing grip. He doesn’t make a move. Violence begets violence, and Thanatos does not care for it. 

“The heart, Thanatos,” Zagreus repeats through gritted teeth. His voice sounds distorted. “Or I’ll tear out yours instead.”

But sometimes, violence is the only way to _prevent_ violence too. Balling his right hand into a fist, Thanatos swings and punches Zagreus clean in the jaw. Zagreus staggers, leaving Thanatos free as he hunches over in pain.

Thanatos looks around, finds the vial and takes it. Looking at it more closely, things begin to make sense.

The sound of Zagreus spitting up blood draws Thanatos’ attention. He glides over to his side, keeping a bit more distance just in case. Zagreus looks up at him, and though his smile is painted red, the odd glow in his eyes seems to have dimmed. Thanatos exhales with relief. Groaning, Zagreus lets himself fall onto his back. Thanatos watches him blink up at Elysium’s sky as if he’s trying to remember something.

“You should sit up,” Thanatos says. “You’ll choke on your own blood.”

And Zagreus groans again but he does as he’s told regardless. “I feel sick,” he says, reaching up to hold his head with a miserable look on his face. 

Thanatos believes him immediately. "I don't recall blessings from the god of war having this effect on you," he says. 

Zagreus stares ahead for a moment, as if it's only just dawning on him that Ares' blessings might have something to do with all of this. "Me neither." When he coughs his hands come back red. "Might've taken it a bit too far," he then admits, looking at his dripping fingers.

"There's an understatement," Thanatos scoffs. Now that he’s sure Zagreus is alive, he feels an incredible urge to lecture him to death. "You realize you threatened to rip my heart out?" 

Zagreus' eyes go wide. 

"I… gods, I really did say that, didn't I," he says, his voice small. "Than I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"No more than what you asked for." Thanatos holds up the vial of blood for Zagreus to see. “You of all people should know not to underestimate a god.”

"...You're right," Zagreus sighs. "Hhg, blood and darkness…" he cusses as he gets to his feet. His whole body aches now that the rush ceased numbing the pain. Thanatos looks him over. Maybe he shouldn’t be too hard on him while he’s recovering. Impossible as it seems, Thanatos doesn’t think Zagreus allowed himself to be all but possessed on purpose.

"Do you need anything?" he asks. Zagreus snorts, but then immediately coughs up more blood. (Between his gargled heaving Thanatos can make out the words _“oof, bad idea,”_ and he can’t help but agree.)

"I think you've already given me exactly what I needed," he says. Then, with a hint of wonder he adds, "...That was the first time you hit me."

"As far as I'm concerned, it'll be the last," Thanatos crosses his arms. "It's not something I enjoy doing." 

"What if I ask nicely?" Zagreus tries to joke but all it gets him is a disapproving frown.

“Inappropriate, Zag,” Thanatos says sternly.

“Sorry,” Zagreus mumbles. He glances around the room. From the looks of it, he’s not too far from the arena. Now if only he could get his legs to move. “Hey Than,” he starts sheepishly, smiling when Thanatos meets his eyes. “I actually do have a favor to ask…”

*

Thanatos escorts him to the nearest fountain. He watches as Zagreus immediately dunks as much of his head into the pool as will fit. 

“You may as well bathe in it,” Thanatos tells him, although it looks like Zagreus is already attempting to do just that. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks,” Zagreus mutters through wet lips. He wipes his eyes and surveys his injuries. It’s pretty bad, but he’s still alive and the worst of his wounds are already healing thanks to the fountain’s water. If it weren’t for Thanatos though, he’d definitely have fought himself to death by now. 

It must have been an accident, Zagreus thinks, for him and Ares to have melded this much. “Do you still have the...” he turns to Thanatos. “The keepsake?”

“I do." The vial is tucked safely within his cloak. “I’m taking it back with me.”

Zagreus nods. “Yeah, figured you would,” he sighs. “Probably for the best.” Especially considering _real_ blood was soon to be spilled. The Temple of Styx is not far off. Picturing just how he could have responded to the crunch of wet bones and the smell of hot blood makes Zagreus feel nauseous. It’s a good thing Thanatos arrived when he did.

“Are you feeling alright?” Thanatos asks, studying him.

“Outside of feeling like a complete idiot,” Zagreus admits, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I think I’m fine now.”

“The usual, then,” Thanatos says. It takes Zagreus a beat to realize he’s joking but once he does, he laughs. The sight is reassuring.

“I suppose I had that one coming,” he says. He shakes out his wet hair and stretches, readying himself to keep going.

Thanatos stares at him, lost in thought. It’s insane how quickly Zagreus recovers, both physically and mentally. Minutes earlier Zagreus was all gnashing teeth and burning skin. It must be something in his veins, in the powers he inherited from above. Regardless, neither of them should linger here much longer. 

“Catch,” Thanatos says. Zagreus looks up just in time to see the Centaur heart thrown his way, and he catches it with both hands.

“Thank you, Than,” Zagreus says sincerely. 

“Don’t die, Zag,” Thanatos replies. He stays long enough to exchange one more smile, and then he’s gone.

*

Zagreus’ collection of keepsakes is impressive. Thanatos finds himself distracted examining them all. To the naked eye they look no different from ordinary trinkets, lucky charms perhaps, simple objects the dead often keep on them in the grave.

Maybe they are. Maybe it’s Zagreus that makes them hold power. Thanatos knows it’s that way for Mort, as he certainly did not intend for his small mousy friend to become a summoning device. Back then, he had no idea him and Zagreus would ever be apart far enough to warrant needing such a thing.

A lot has changed.

Forcing himself away from melancholy, Thanatos retrieves the vial he took from Zagreus in order to put it back. Holding it in his hand, he considers keeping it a bit longer. Just to make sure Zagreus doesn’t immediately dive headfirst into the same predicament. He turns it in his hand and watches the blood roll.

The vial should feel cool in his palm, but it doesn’t. In fact, the longer he holds it, the hotter it appears to get, a prickling kind of warmth that spreads like electricity. When Thanatos holds his breath he can hear noise in the distance, screams of slaughter and suffering, the clashing of blades, the tearing of skin. The sensation coils uncomfortably around his stomach and when he takes a deep breath to calm his senses, the air surrounding him tastes coppery and oppressive.

The pang of pain that hits his temples nearly causes him to drop the vial. It feels like an encroaching presence, looking to seep into his thoughts. Is this what Zagreus feels when he carries these keepsakes? With somewhat sweaty hands Thanatos quickly returns it to its place.

“Than? You’re still here.”

The sound of Zagreus’ surprised voice would’ve had Thanatos jump three feet into the air if he wasn’t already hovering. He quickly closes the cabinet’s doors and turns around.

“I was just leaving,” he says.

“Oh,” Zagreus sounds disappointed. “I just got back.”

“I can see that,” Thanatos replies. Then, softer, he adds: “Made it all the way again?”

Zagreus smiles, and Thanatos feels oddly relieved to note the absence of blood between his teeth. His stomach still feels a bit off. He wonders if he’s been overworking himself again, until he realizes Zagreus has been saying things he was expected to listen to.

“Than? I asked if you’re feeling alright. You look kind of pale,” Zagreus says, apparently repeating himself.

“...I’m fine,” Thanatos says. “A bit tired, I suppose.” He briefly glances down at the hand that just held Ares’ keepsake. His fingers still feel a bit tingly. At this point it’s probably all between his ears - it’s just a trinket, nothing more.

“You should take a break,” Zagreus offers.

Thanatos tsks. “A selfless suggestion, I’m sure,” he says. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Because I only ever supply you with the best of ideas,” Zagreus answers, like it’s obvious. 

“You should keep some for yourself next time,” Thanatos counters, but a smile is already tugging at his lips and it has every intent to betray his serious tone. 

Zagreus doesn’t even try for a serious tone. He simply smiles. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you.” 

They head for the lounge together, bumping shoulders and bickering until Megaera tells them to stop flirting in public.

Until the distant call to violence became a memory Thanatos must’ve imagined. He looks at Zagreus, at the red in his right eye. It looks deeper than before. Less like garnet and more like blood. When Zagreus catches his gaze Thanatos feels a sharpness like metal on skin - but then Zagreus laughs (likely at a joke he told himself) and Thanatos thinks he must’ve imagined that, too.


	2. ruptured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But when Thanatos looks towards him all he sees is blue.

There’s no trace of Zagreus.

Usually it doesn't take Thanatos much effort to find him when he's out defying Lord Hades. If the raw energy in his red blood doesn't give him away, the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake draws a straight line to his location. Where Zagreus goes, trouble follows and Thanatos, for better or worse, has become an expert at detecting both.

Not that he makes a habit out of tracking Zagreus’ every move. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes circumstances require him to keep a closer eye on the prince. Other times he simply wants to make sure Zagreus is still there. After all, one of these days or nights he could simply move past that snowy landing, step through the gate and disappear into the mortal realm forever. While Zagreus seems cheerily convinced there is no escape (something Hypnos likely had a hand in), Thanatos isn’t so sure Olympus will agree. Once they’ve extracted him from the earth, they might make him one of their own and then, he’ll never be able to come back. Not even if he wanted to.

Thanatos hasn’t shared those thoughts. Zagreus has enough on his plate as it is, and gods know Thanatos does too. Adding another reason for concern, another complication to what’s already a righteous mess won’t help anyone. Instead he tries not to think about it too much. He reminds himself the only certainty is death, and he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Zagreus won’t become an exception to that rule.

So whenever he gets the chance, Thanatos seeks him out. Sometimes under the guise of work, sometimes under the guise of boredom when oftentimes it’s nothing but the desire to see his face. To spend some time together, maybe steal a kiss or two, if he catches him at an opportune moment. (Although a kiss from death should be anything but, Zagreus insists it’s lucky.)

Thanatos doesn’t always show himself. Instead he’ll watch from a distance, while Zagreus works his way up through the layers of the underworld, snapping witty taunts at enemies who don’t speak his language. There’s something soothing about it, the lightheartedness with which Zagreus seeks out danger. It’s such a clear contrast to mortals, most of whom fear and avoid anything that could risk their single, short life. Thanatos does not judge them for being afraid of death, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t refreshing to know someone who is not. Zagreus appreciates him without resenting the work he does. It’s a nice feeling, being seen like that.

And it’s nice seeing _him_ too, whether up close or from afar. It brings some brightness to the underworld; brightness of the pleasant kind, like stars illuminating a pitch black sky.

But now it’s dark, and even when Thanatos concentrates he can’t feel anything indicating Zagreus’ presence. A single, terrifying thought crosses his mind: he can’t have left already, can he?

It’d be too soon. Thanatos saw Megaera just now, striding down the procession with a vengeance, so Zagreus only just crossed into Asphodel. There’s no way he made it out that fast, even if all of Olympus bestowed the greatest of their powers…

Right?

It wouldn’t be the first time either of them underestimated what the Olympians are capable of. Thinking back to the recent incident with Ares makes Thanatos’ stomach feel too small. Zagreus promised to steer clear of the god of war for a while, but will that keep him safe? What if there’s more danger in the blessings he receives than in the battles he fights?

The quiet is unnerving, and mulling over thoughts like this isn’t helping. Just as Thanatos considers asking Megaera about her run-in with Zagreus, he feels a tug on his awareness. Zagreus’ voice sounds muffled, drowned out but it’s clear that he’s calling for him, the bond between them pulling Thanatos in like a magnet. With no small sense of relief, Thanatos lets it guide him.

The suffocating heat betrays that he’s in Asphodel, still. Thanatos immediately recognizes the creature currently hissing its fire in Zagreus’ direction. It’s the bone hydra, as stubborn as its attacker, trying once again to stop Zagreus from progressing into Elysium. It looks severely wounded already, and Thanatos wastes no time adding some wounds of his own. Right as death is about to close in on its final skull, he hears Zagreus call for Olympus, likely to help finish the job.

But when Thanatos looks towards him all he sees is blue.

A sphere of water keeps Zagreus inside, rushing and whirling wildly around him. The drops that escape are sharp as glass, hissing when they hit Asphodel’s burning floor. Thanatos stares, dumbfounded as Zagreus crashes into the hydra over and over, grinding its skull into dust as if it eroded in an instant. The water splashes everywhere as it tears its foe apart, and Thanatos fails to notice the unruly waves grabbing at his cloak until it’s too late to throw up his shield.

He gets knocked back, soaked in an instant and the sudden cold drenching through his skin fills his bones with a tearing ache. The water drowns his eyes, his ears and Thanatos quickly presses his lips together for fear of breathing it in. Seeing nothing but the back of his eyelids for a split-second, the room around him shakes one last time. 

When he opens his eyes the lava surrounding him sputters and sizzles as it swallows the hydra’s remains. A stone’s throw away lies Zagreus, still as death, a conch shell in his hand.

“Zagreus!!” 

Thanatos is at his side in an instant, kneeling down in the puddle that formed beneath Zagreus’ body. The water’s warm as blood.

Zagreus isn’t breathing.

Thanatos panics. 

He can’t be dead. He can’t be, not yet, because he’s still here. The river would have claimed him by now if there was no life left inside. So why isn’t he breathing? Thanatos grabs Zagreus’ shoulders and shakes. He has no idea what to do - he’s supposed to _bring_ death, not prevent it. 

He tries to remember the ways in which mortals attempt to thwart him when their time is near. Shocking the heart, steady pushing on the chest... some even try to breathe life back into someone as if they were gods themselves. Their efforts are usually in vain. The Fates don’t often allow mortals to tamper with their design.

But Thanatos is no mortal. With shaking hands he lays Zagreus back down, palms finding his heart through memory rather than beat. He presses down. He can feel Zagreus’ ribs resisting the pressure but he keeps going anyway, pushing and pushing until he’s sure he can hear the river, flooding in to take him home. 

Zagreus shoots up gasping for air as if submerging, nearly knocking heads with Thanatos before he erupts into a fit of gargled coughing.

Thanatos quickly reaches for Zagreus’ shoulders again, helps him sit upright. His hands are still shaking, but Zagreus is shaking too. He hacks and spits, filling his lap with the water that had previously filled his lungs, spilling what seems like an ocean from his damp, bluish lips. Thanatos holds him through the worst of it, pulling back only to make sure he’s still breathing once the coughing stops.

Zagreus sits hunched over, panting quietly. He tries to blink the water away, his wet eyelashes clinging together. Thanatos still has one hand on Zagreus’ spine. They stay like that for what feels like forever, the air around them growing humid with evaporating water, salt settling like dust on their skin.

It’s not until Zagreus looks up to face him that Thanatos notices his single green eye has taken on an azure hue, deep and dark. His hair is still dripping, little drops like kisses gathering in the hollow above his collarbones. Thanatos resists the urge to swipe them away.

“Than,” Zagreus says hoarsely, “You came.”

And Thanatos wants to get angry but he’s still so worried and relieved at the same time that all he manages is an upset frown. “What happened,” he asks, far meeker than he remembers himself sounding.

“...I’m not sure,” Zagreus mutters, dropping his head to survey the water pooling around him. His skin glistens as if iridescent, light fractured into tiny rainbows decorating his cheekbones, his wrists. Thanatos didn't think it possible for Iris to reach down here, so far away from the chariot of Helios. Maybe it's just an illusion.

Zagreus sneezes. It takes every ounce of Thanatos’ self-control not to yelp in surprise. Zagreus seems to notice and flashes him an apologetic half-smile. Thanatos sighs.

“We need to get you dry.”

*

He watches as Zagreus tries to drape Thanatos' cloak over a rock so it can dry. Busied entirely with Zagreus’ well-being, Thanatos completely forgot that he himself had become quite soaked, too. He feels rather naked without his hood, though not quite as naked as Zagreus must feel right now, seeing how he shamelessly stripped down to his underclothes the second Thanatos told him he needed to get dry.

( _“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”_ Zagreus had the audacity to tease when Thanatos sputtered at the sight of him peeling off his drenched clothes.)

Satisfied with his handiwork, Zagreus returns to Thanatos’ side and sits down. They moved to a spot near the edge of the hydra’s island, so the lava’s heat could help dry their hair and skin. Zagreus had retrieved his blade and Thanatos was currently holding the shell, absently thumbing over its textured surface. 

Neither of them wants to talk about it, it seems.

“So…” Zagreus is the first to cave. He’s always been horrible at tolerating silence. “This was a learning experience.”

“That’s all you have to say about it?” Thanatos snaps. He can’t help himself.

“No, I just...” Zagreus ghosts a hand over his heart and Thanatos can see he’s struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. That Thanatos literally pushed the water out of him where it was about to send him home. Of all his times dying, this was likely the first time he drowned. Thanatos can’t imagine what it must have felt like. “...Thank you, for saving me.”

Thanatos looks at Zagreus, who is now keenly avoiding his gaze. While his own hair is pretty much dry by now, Zagreus’ looks as wet as before, flowing freely as if underwater still. It’s both beautiful and terrifying.

“What happened,” he asks again. Zagreus glances at the shell in Thanatos’ lap.

“He said I was worthy of it,” he says. When Thanatos doesn’t immediately respond, he continues. “Uncle Poseidon, he told me he’d been withholding his most powerful blessing.”

“What does that mean, Zagreus."

"It means that if I called for him, he'd answer." Zagreus looks at his hands. His fingers are still dripping. “Like he was here with me, actually _here_. I could hear his voice up close. He cloaked me in water and we fought together.”

“He wasn’t here,” says Thanatos. 

“I know that,” Zagreus replies. 

Thanatos wonders if it would have made a difference. It’s far more likely that the god of the sea would have left Zagreus washed up without a second thought, allow the underworld’s waters to take him instead. Until the next time he could place his mark on him again, play him like the waves. He thinks he knows why he couldn’t sense him, now. Zagreus’ energy simply got drowned out, lost underwater.

“I remember calling for Poseidon, crashing into the hydra...everything was fine. But then the water wouldn’t let me go and I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. Couldn’t move. I figured I’d call to Olympus again, let them know the fight was over but when I opened my mouth, well...” Zagreus eyes Thanatos, smiles sheepishly. It seems to disturb something in his throat. Thanatos reaches for him as he starts coughing again.

“That’s enough,” he says, tentatively patting the space between Zagreus’ shoulders. He feels bad making him recount something so horrible-sounding. He feels worse that it confirms his fears. “It’s over now.”

Zagreus leans into Thanatos’ arms. He smells like the sea. His breath feels warm and damp against Thanatos’ bare chest. His hair leaves cool trails of water on skin that had only just dried. Thanatos feels goosebumps rise up along his sides. He holds Zagreus closer, regardless.

If only Lord Hades had educated Zagreus a bit more on matters besides the underworld. Then he would’ve known the sea claims nearly as many lives as war does, sometimes more. That Poseidon shakes more than just the earth. That he takes, and takes, and takes. He doubts Zagreus' second uncle divulged that bit of information when he approached him with his blessings. How easy it must be to forget not every god can breathe underwater, when your only concern is which offering you’re receiving next. Which maiden to next steal into the tides.

As Thanatos stews in his anger, Zagreus’ breathing slows. For a moment Thanatos thinks he’s falling asleep.

“What are you thinking,” Zagreus then asks. His soft voice seems to echo between their bodies.

“Our clothes have probably dried by now,” Thanatos responds.

It’s not a lie, per se. Thanatos is just thinking of many other things, too. Things he doesn’t want to burden Zagreus with, not right now. Not while he can see how much it hurts for him to swallow. Not while his eyes are still bloodshot from their fight against the water.

It wouldn’t help much, anyway. Zagreus does what Zagreus wants, even if it kills him. It usually does. 

After a moment of what looks like quiet consideration, Zagreus slumps a little against Thanatos' chest. His waters calm. From the cavern’s natural ceiling, drops of condensed steam begin falling, creating the closest thing to rain Asphodel will ever see.

Zagreus laces his and Thanatos’ fingers together. His touch feels like warm water. His lips taste like salt. As their kisses slowly grow longer, deeper, Thanatos thinks that being with Zagreus is a little bit like drowning, too.

*

(Standing in front of Zagreus’ keepsake cabinet, Thanatos holds Poseidon’s conch shell to his ear. He doesn’t hear the ocean. He hears the endless dripping of Zagreus’ fingertips. The absence of his breath.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ok i really want to thank everyone for all the support! it encouraged me to write this chapter way earlier than i expected. i absolutely adore writing feel-good romance and fluff (and im definitely still going to do that too) but its really nice to delve into some darker stuff from time to time. so thank you! i hope youll continue to enjoy this fic as it develops.
> 
> AND WOW the amazingly skilled @beepaint on twitter has blessed us all with fanart, see and love it [here](https://twitter.com/beepaint/status/1223083832653447168?s=20), im still crying its so beautiful


	3. overflowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the weight of his heart that pulls him out and down the courtyard’s window, where the sound of revelry awaits him.

Thanatos is good at hiding his feelings. He’s so good at it that most who know his name would believe he has no emotions at all. But Zagreus knows more than his name, and he knows better, because right now Thanatos is unquestionably upset.

Not that he’s making it obvious. Rather, Zagreus has learned to read the subtle ways in which Thanatos expresses himself. Whether he wears his hood up or down, how much of his face it obscures. How high he carries himself above the ground, if he sways or stays completely still. How long it takes for him to answer a question, and if he makes eye contact while doing so. If there’s tension in his shoulders, in his hands.

Zagreus watches as Thanatos clutches his scythe with far more force than necessary, staring at a fixed spot on the wall, and he knows.

They tried to talk about it. About the accidents with Ares and Poseidon, except Thanatos, for whatever reason, is convinced there was more to it than that. He doesn’t believe they were accidents. In a heated exchange of words he told Zagreus that the Olympians are using him, that he needs to be more careful, to which Zagreus replied that he is using them too.

 _“That’s different,”_ Thanatos had said. _“You’re simply taking offered aid. You aren’t hurting them.”_

And Zagreus could only look to the floor in guilt because he knows it would only be a matter of time until he does. The lies about his reason for escape are bound to expire eventually and once they do, Zagreus imagines the gods will be more than just hurt. Perhaps pleasing them now, even at the familiar pain of death, will ease their wrath once the truth comes out. He can’t be sure of that, but neither can Thanatos. Even the Fates struggle when it comes to Olympus.

Him and Thanatos don’t fight often, but when they do it’s always about things pertaining to Zagreus’ escape. And while he tries his best to understand, to see that Thanatos’ anger comes from concern, that cold look in his eyes remains difficult to bear. The way he treats Zagreus’ actions as if they’re decisions, when all Zagreus has is the illusion of choice.

Achilles taught him there's no such thing as lesser gods. Zagreus now knows there’s no such thing as lesser evils, either.

If he could go back, he would. But the only way is forward, so that’s where he’s going: and the only way to keep going is with the Olympian’s aid.

Thanatos told him he wouldn’t keep saving him. Zagreus said he didn't need him to. Then Thanatos left. 

So Zagreus left too.

*

It’s the weight of his heart that pulls him out and down the courtyard’s window, where the sound of revelry awaits him.

“Heey Zag you’re looking pretty cheerless there, keep at it man, keep at it, here, I’ve got just what you need to turn that frown upside down,” says Dionysus. 

And Zagreus doubts it, like he does with most claims made by the god of wine, but he takes his blessings anyway. Dionysus' power enters his veins and Zagreus allows it to course through his body until he can taste it on his tongue. It's sweet. He breathes in, then sighs out and suddenly, things don’t seem so bad anymore.

He doesn’t know much about wine. Dionysus’ grape vines don’t root so deep to reach down here but Zagreus imagines the product of its fruit must be divine, when there is a god fully dedicated to its cultivation. Maybe that’s why it poisons wretches, bothers and louts alike: it simply isn’t meant to be consumed by those separated from the gods. 

A few drops is enough to make them stumble, disoriented and confused. It's oddly amusing, the stupidity of their wobbling movements, their inability to see Varatha until it sits lodged inside their hollow chests. It doesn't take long for this unexpected source of entertainment to liven the mood significantly and Zagreus wonders if this time, Dionysus might have actually been right.

It’s nice, being able to have fun during an otherwise depressing undertaking. It feels like it’s been forever since Zagreus had a good time doing anything. The looming presence of his father and the continuous cruel ends he meets always put a damper on any semblance of joy.

But now, the dourness of both his situation and his surroundings is distant. Unimportant. There’s a pleasant warmth wrapped around Zagreus’ body and it makes every step he takes feel like a dance. Dionysus’ goblet hangs upside down, hooked on Zagreus’ belt and the wine it drips writes music on the floor, fills the atmosphere with a heady scent that makes his mouth water.

He all but floats up the steps into Asphodel, freed by the knowledge that nothing really matters. If his father is right and everything is as it always was, as it always will be, then why not make the best of it? Why _not_ have a drink or two, something to take the edge off, something to keep his sore muscles warm and his troubled thoughts at bay.

It's like his senses have sharpened. He can see more colors, he can hear more sounds and all of it is beautiful. He's never felt like this before. His heart beats wild and invincible, bursting with power and life.

In the midst of Asphodel’s flashing fires and smoke-filled air Zagreus realizes that this is what he’s been thirsting for all this time. A life where death seems so far away that it may as well be a myth. Where celebration needs no reason, and laughter needs no cause. No punishment, no grieving, just feasting and euphoria until pain becomes nothing but a memory, soon to be forgotten.

And Zagreus forgets.

He forgets how heavy his heart had weighed. He forgets what had held him back. He forgets the darkness he came from and for a moment, wandering loose-limbed into Elysium, Zagreus forgets where he is going. He wonders if in all his wine-fueled freedom, he forgot something important. Then he forgets that, too.

Time moves as if in a dream. Zagreus blinks twice and he’s stumbling through the Temple of Styx. The drops of wine from his goblet dilute the blood that drips from his wounds. (He didn’t remember Asterius moving that fast. He didn’t remember Varatha feeling so heavy in his hands.) His head still pounds with echoes of cheering and when he closes his eyes it’s as if it doesn’t belong to his body at all. His dancing feet tiptoe around blisters, his limbs feel too long, too clumsy.

Part of him wants to laugh. Most of him wants to cry. What had smelled like fruit and sugar now stings like vinegar in his eyes. He misses...there’s something he misses. He can’t remember what. He wants, he wants. He’s terrifyingly empty, he’s so full it overflows. Everything spins and it no longer sounds like music. Or maybe it does, and the song simply reminds him of regret.

Zagreus bites into a pomegranate, spills half its seeds onto the floor. Charon pretends not to see. Zagreus is grateful for it. He drags himself over to the other side of the hall, waving at a big red blur he passes on the way. It reminds him of someone, someone fuzzy and warm. He can’t recall their name.

Just a bit longer. A bit more and it’ll be over. He’ll be thrown back into Styx and carried home - home, oh, he never should have left. He never should have...winding tunnels, dancing satyr, flying darts.

He doesn’t think he’s dead quite yet. It all goes black, regardless.

*

On the sixth snap of Thanatos’ fingers, Zagreus opens his eyes. Thanatos wants to yell at him, wants to shake him if not for the worry that he’ll pass right back out.

It smells terrible. Thanatos knew the tunnels weren’t exactly the most hygienic place but he wasn’t expecting them to be quite this foul, either. It’s sour, burnt hair and rotting flesh and if Thanatos didn’t spend most of his workdays handling decaying bodies he might have felt compelled to turn his stomach inside out.

“Thhhn,” Zagreus groans.

“Be quiet,” says Thanatos. The pungence is too much, he can’t hear himself think.

He looks around. Outside of a few stray mice, some flies and cockroaches this tunnel seems mostly clear. He has to get Zagreus out of here - he's a mess of blood and half-digested wine, and it won't be long until bigger vermin take notice. 

“Can you…” Thanatos is halfway through asking if Zagreus can stand when he sees he passed out again. It’s enough of an answer, albeit not the one he was hoping for. Leaning down, Thanatos manages to arrange Zagreus’ limp body enough to reach under his shoulders and knees, scooping him up into his arms.

His skin feels clammy, and his whole body burns rather than just his feet. There's ivy woven through his wreath. His complexion is stained, his hair’s disheveled and his lips are purple like a bruise. Rather than holding onto him, Zagreus lies weakly in his arms, like he’s floating instead of being carried, like he’s ready for the river to swallow him up, but Thanatos got to him first.

He lays Zagreus down on the cool tiles of the temple's floor. He slides out of his cloak and rolls it up into a makeshift pillow for him to rest his head, lest he choke on his own tongue.

Looking him over like this, Thanatos regrets storming out as he did when they last spoke. He wanted to get Zagreus away from the Olympians, but it seems he only drove him closer. And of all the gods to chase him towards...

Gently, he brushes Zagreus' hair away from his damp forehead. In his sleep, Zagreus makes the most pathetic little noise. He must be in pain. There's pinprick wounds on his neck, Satyr blow darts no doubt. Thanatos better get some antidote ready for when Zagreus wakes up. It’ll only take care of one of the poisons in Zagreus’ blood, but it’s better than nothing.

When Thanatos returns Zagreus' eyes are open. He seems to calm down when he sees Thanatos, but his hand shakes when he reaches for him. Thanatos intercepts it and carefully guides it back down.

"Easy, Zag," he tells him. He takes out an Ambrosia bottle - though its contents don't look like the heavenly drink at all. Instead it's a milky, almost luminescent fluid with a faint yellow hue. "Drink this."

Zagreus shakes his head wildly, then groans at the pain of doing so. Just the thought of drinking seems to make him gag. Thanatos sighs.

"Fine, have it your way," he says. 

Kneeling at his side, Thanatos guides Zagreus to sit upright. He sinks a hand into his hair, fingers spread wide to support the weight of his head as gravity tries to pull him back down. 

Turning away, Thanatos pours the antidote into his own mouth - it really doesn't taste like much of anything, but its texture is odd and oily. He can understand why Zagreus doesn't want to drink it. Too bad he doesn't have a choice.

He tosses the bottle aside and tips up Zagreus' chin. He looks into his eyes as they lid slightly, and then he leans in to press his lips to Zagreus' own.

Zagreus accepts him easily, thinking it just a kiss, but when Thanatos' tongue pries his mouth open he sputters at the feeling of cool liquid pouring down his throat. Thanatos' fingers rub soothing circles into the back of his neck as he feeds Zagreus the antidote, his free hand framing his throat to make sure he drinks it down. Reflex tears roll down Zagreus' cheeks and he reaches for Thanatos, grasping at his chest as he swallows his kisses until there's nothing left.

Thanatos swipes a thumb along Zagreus' wet lips and looks at him with such an intense gaze that it makes Zagreus squirm. He's watching for signs of the antidote kicking in. 

Zagreus' eyes itch. He can't stop blinking, and each time he does it's like his vision gets more blurred. Thanatos takes his wrist to check his pulse. His fingers still tremble but his temperature seems to be dropping, at least.

"Than," Zagreus slurs. "Than…"

"I'm here," Thanatos answers.

"I think I'm dying," Zagreus says.

"You're not," Thanatos replies. 

Zagreus is not convinced. "I feel so, bad."

"I know." 

"And you," Zagreus sounds like he bit his own tongue. "You…"

Thanatos doesn't say anything. He just watches as a myriad of emotions cross Zagreus' face, as he cycles through expressions until one of them sticks, something small and lonely. When Zagreus reaches for him again, Thanatos lets him. His purple fingertips feel sticky on his cheek.

"You said you wouldn't come," Zagreus whispers.

"You said you wouldn't need me," Thanatos returns. 

Zagreus thinks for a moment. It looks painful.

"I lied," he then decides.

(And Thanatos smiles, because he already knew.)

"Sorry," Zagreus tries, but Thanatos places a finger on his lips.

"It's alright," he says quietly. "So did I." 

*

As Zagreus sleeps, Thanatos pours out Dionysus' goblet, then watches as it refills itself. The pooling wine smells like fruit and flowers, it swirls like a never-ending dance. Thanatos hears it calling, outstretched hands and bubbling laughter, warm bodies and joy-filled eyes.

His throat feels oddly dry, but he pays it no mind. He's probably just tired, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was probably the most challenging chapter ive written so far! once again im just so happy and overwhelmed by all the kind words and enthusiasm for this fic, thank you so so so much!
> 
> @beepaint continues with the bountiful blessings, im still shaking just, [look at this please](https://twitter.com/beepaint/status/1227903731150143489)
> 
> @kishdoodles on twitter did [this](https://twitter.com/goshdangkish/status/1230168928061538306) AMAZING fanart for this chapter, please go love it while i cry tears of joy


	4. eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truly there is nowhere love can’t reach.

Slowly but surely, Zagreus is becoming the strongest being in the underworld. He has the favor of not one god, but all of Olympus, plays Chaos like dice and shares a bed with death. It doesn’t get much better than that, and yet, Zagreus feels powerless.

Matters of the heart tend to have that effect, Achilles once told him. Zagreus never asked how he learned - the sad look in his eyes said enough.

He’s not fighting with Thanatos, not really. Fighting might actually be more comfortable than this - passionless exchanges about decisions that cannot be reversed. Especially now that Zagreus has been getting in over his head more than once, taking on more divine power than his underworld-born body can handle, the fruitless discussions between him and Thanatos occur more and more frequently.

The worst part is that he doesn’t have anything to say in his own defense. Yes, he’s learning that his Olympian family seems to be doing him more harm than good but no, that won’t stop him from continuing to seek out their aid. He can’t leave without them and anything, _anything_ is better than staying here.

But he misses Thanatos. He misses the kisses they’d sneak in after a kill-contest, he misses the way he would wish him good luck. He misses being looked at with confidence, rather than concern. Thanatos is one of the few allies he has down here and it feels like he’s fading away. Like the recent Olympian incidents overshadow what lives between them.

Zagreus feels like he caused this problem, and he intends to fix it.

There has to be a way to show Thanatos that not all of the gods are dangerous to his health. A way to prove that they want what’s best for him, that they just have odd ways of showing it. That he’s getting stronger every day, more and more capable of containing the powers bestowed upon him. Something to ease Thanatos’ worries, just enough for their relationship to shift back to the love they share, rather than the situation they’re in. They’ve made it through rough patches before. Zagreus is sure that with the right kind of push, they’ll make it out of this one, too.

He steps away from his mirror and looks at the wall. He waited, but Thanatos hasn’t come by. Next time, maybe. For now, he needs to go.

Aphrodite scoops up his fragile heart the moment she hears it beating. She’s always been uncannily observant when it comes to Zagreus’ feelings. It’s as if she can see right through him, despite the darkness that shrouds his home. (It worries him at times, the thought that some day or night she might spy Zagreus’ love for the mother he never knew. Maybe she already did, and simply keeps it to herself.)

 _Scandalous_ , she calls it, the relationship between him and Thanatos. Still whenever it comes up she sounds incredibly pleased. Victorious, even, but Zagreus supposes that taking hold of death itself must feel like quite the feat. Truly there is nowhere love can’t reach.

“You look troubled, dearest,” she says, her harp-string chimes embracing him like a breeze. “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that then, shall we?”

And Zagreus lets her in his heart.

*

Thanatos can tell something’s off the second he answers Zagreus’ call. The relatively small island of Elysium is roaring with battle, but Zagreus is nowhere to be found. When he looks closer Thanatos realizes the shades are fighting _each other,_ rather than an intruder.

He’s never seen anything like it. Elysium is as peaceful as one would expect a paradise to be, outside of the coliseum showdowns that keep its inhabitants from crippling under the weight of eternity. This, however, looks nothing like that. An extreme lack of direction characterizes this mess of a fight, no self-preservation for miles and yet the participating wretches look eerily content. Ecstatic, even, as they slash each other to pieces with dreamy, distant looks about them that persist into their repeated deaths, a pink mist enveloping them much like their skin once did.

But still no sign of Zagreus. Thanatos looks around, worried he arrived too late. That’s when he hears his voice.

“Hello there, Than,” Zagreus sings. 

Thanatos whips his head around to find him, perched on top of a broken pillar near the edge of the room. He’s peering down at him, his long legs crossed, completely ignoring the battles around him. Coronacht hangs from his shoulder, adorned with myrtle and pearls. It seems to glow slightly - but not as much as Zagreus.

It’s subtle. Thanatos has trouble identifying just what it is about him that looks different. Outside of a few wild roses decorating his wreath, a few pristine white feathers tucked between their blooms, there really isn’t much of a noticeable change.

Thanatos _feels_ it, though.

“I’ve missed you,” Zagreus drawls. Easily, he allows himself to slide down the pillar’s edge towards the ground. Thanatos’ eyes follow his movements.

Zagreus has been a royal since he was born, unlike Thanatos, but Zagreus has hardly ever looked the part, princely only in gestures. Now, however, Zagreus exudes the refined aura of royalty, power and confidence wrapped in an appearance so exquisite Thanatos can’t look away. The longer he stares, the more captivating he seems to become.

Hearing Zagreus missed him should not feel strange. He says things like that quite frequently, and Thanatos often replies in kind. Yet there’s a certain tone hiding in Zagreus’ voice right now that twists his words into something else entirely. Something deeper. Something incomplete. Thanatos thinks he recognizes it, this sound, this scent, but it’s unexpectedly hard to focus on his thoughts. Especially when Zagreus interrupts them.

“Did you miss me, too?” Zagreus looks at him, his head tilted just so, all soft smiles and sparkling eyes and it invokes a sense of danger that rattles Thanatos’ ribs like keys against a metal cage.

From the corners of his vision Thanatos sees a frenzied soldier throw himself off the island’s edge. Next to him a chariot mindlessly smashes itself into a wall. A sliver of dread settles in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Zagreus says, dismissively, sparing a glance at the reason for Thanatos' distraction. “They won’t disturb us, I’ve made sure of that.” 

Another chariot explodes. The fire of it paints the prettiest highlights on Zagreus’ glowing skin and that’s when realization comes to Thanatos like a memory, gently emerging in the back of his mind. He knows, then, that the origin of Zagreus’ radiance has nothing to do with royalty. That the way he carries himself isn’t just refined.

It’s divine.

It has to be Aphrodite, then, veiling him in this ethereal glow. She’s the only one who could. But how exactly does this aid Zagreus’ escape? And how is it that Thanatos feels the effect of her blessings, too? These are but a few of his questions, and yet his voice stays locked behind his tongue.

"Not in the mood to talk, are you," Zagreus muses. Thanatos swallows as he watches him slink closer, sizing him up with a glint in his eyes. 

Thanatos has no idea what to do. Words flee his mind alongside coherent thought and all they leave in their wake is static, tension building between his bones the closer Zagreus gets. Elysium’s attempt at fresh air feels charged, now. Impending. 

"That's alright," Zagreus continues, pausing his approach at an arm’s length to Thanatos’ hovering feet. "I’m not here to talk, either."

Despite his words Zagreus does not make a move, staying put on the edge of too close. Through lowered lashes his mismatched eyes roam Thanatos’ body. It wakes a restlessness inside of him, something impatient that he can’t quite place. Thanatos feels the heat emanating from Zagreus’ body, smells the mix of sweat and flowers clinging to his skin. He breathes in.

When they lock eyes Thanatos sees visions that smell of roses and bedsheets, show Zagreus dressed in kisses, promising he’ll stay. He can almost feel it, soft hands tracing his lines until his skin saturates with warmth. He tries to remind himself it’s Aphrodite, her strings on Zagreus’ soul doing this to him. She knows just where he's weakest and that's where she grows her flowers, until the roots of his garden stab like daggers into Thanatos’ heart.

He needs - needs to do something. He’s supposed to help Zagreus _out_ of these spells, not join him alongside them but the sensation of it is so gripping, so powerful in its unfamiliarity that Thanatos has no idea how to defend himself against it. Let alone free Zagreus from its grasp.

“Zagreus,” Thanatos tries, and the raggedness of his own voice surprises him, but Zagreus simply smiles. Waits, as the battle around them rages on and gods, he's beautiful.

Slowly, carefully and against better judgment, Thanatos allows himself to look down Zagreus’ body. Just a little, just to escape those hypnotizing eyes. Zagreus is always stunning, but there's something otherworldly to him now, something Thanatos can't take in by looking alone. He needs to touch. To feel, if he wants to fully appreciate this kind of beauty.

“Thanatos.” The way Zagreus sighs his voice around the syllables of Thanatos’ name is dizzying. It’s never sounded like this, never felt like this before. Both a confession and a command. “You can do more than stare, you know.” He extends a hand towards him and Thanatos feels shivers slither up his ankles like snakes, searching for the perfect vein to puncture. His fingers twitch.

How long has it been? Too long. There’s always complications, always reasons for concern. There’s always more work to do. Even now, Thanatos hears scissors snipping thread, demanding his hands catch the strings as they fall. Nowadays the space and time between them houses a worried kind of love, one which leaves no room for wanting. 

But here Zagreus stands, raw want bleeding from his flushed skin, lips parted just enough for Thanatos to hear an invitation.

Is it that unexpected, then, that Thanatos can barely keep himself afloat?

The abrupt touch of Zagreus’ palm on his chest shocks him from his thoughts. Thanatos’ startled eyes meet his.

“You’re thinking too much,” Zagreus tells him. Thanatos isn’t sure if he’s right. It feels like he’s right, but he no longer trusts himself to tell the difference. Zagreus circles Thanatos’ heart with a soft drag of his fingers - Thanatos shudders. 

“Listen,” Zagreus says. Thanatos feels his heart reaching for him, feels it drumming through his skin, looking for a way to leap out and into Zagreus’ hand. Zagreus must feel it too, because he strokes his heartbeat with a tenderness that burns. “What does it say?”

Thanatos wishes he knew. He’s always spent more time in his head than in his heart, using one to tame the other, but now everything is a jumbled mess and he can’t hear a thing. Behind them shades are still crying, falling and erupting in flames. Thanatos thinks his heart might be doing the same.

“I don’t know,” he confesses, somehow sounding even weaker than before. The smile Zagreus offers him seems wider than before, too. Thanatos watches as he licks his lips and absently mirrors the gesture. 

He may not be able to hear his heart, but he knows what Zagreus is saying. Come here. Come closer. Thanatos doesn’t realize he’s been listening until his feet touch the ground, as if his body responds to Zagreus before registering his voice. He covers Zagreus’ hand with his own, caging in his fingers. If Thanatos is going to be caught here, Zagreus should be too. 

Zagreus is still smiling. Still pinning him under that gorgeous, glittering gaze. And Thanatos knows they shouldn’t, not here, not now, not like this. He knows that if he moves away, if he stops this, Zagreus won’t push, despite the roses in his hair. He’s waiting, waiting for him to make the next move. He’s waiting, and Thanatos…

Thanatos is right here, already. Right…?

Zagreus looks like he’s about to say something. Thanatos decides they’ve said enough. Squeezing Zagreus’ hand he pulls him in, dipping down to steal unspoken words from his mouth. Zagreus unlocks at the first brush of his lips, opening up, drawing him in and Thanatos can’t do anything but follow him down.

The noise Zagreus makes when Thanatos’ tongue fills his mouth is maddening. Thanatos chases the taste of it, kisses him hard enough to feel his teeth. Zagreus slides his arms up and around Thanatos’ neck, anchoring himself to his body, his glossy lips demanding more each time their kisses break.

The click of Zagreus’ clever fingers unclasping Thanatos’ winged pauldron gets lost to the noise of battle raging around them. Zagreus doesn’t bother catching it before it clatters to the ground, hands already busy relieving Thanatos of his gorget instead, a proud little grin pressing into Thanatos’ increasingly hungry kisses.

As piece after piece of his armor falls away, Zagreus slowly strips Thanatos of his heart's defenses too. Desire spills from his kiss-bruised lips and Thanatos soaks it up, shivers as it drenches them both.

Usually, Thanatos is a gentle lover. Patient, to a point where Zagreus often ends up coaxing him on. With how little time they get to spend together in private, Thanatos refuses to rush, intent to commit every touch, every sigh to his memory.

None of that patience reaches him now. Something inside of him thirsts and craves and it turns his butterfly kisses into scraping teeth, scratching down the side of Zagreus' throat.

His belt snaps loose to the sound of Zagreus' purring laughter, and the fabric of his robes falls uselessly at his feet. Zagreus clothes stay stuck to his arm, hanging off his elbow as Thanatos rips off the skulls obscuring his shoulder, but leaves his belt in place. It's not yet in the way. 

He sucks at Zagreus' skin until it no longer tastes like roses. Zagreus' nails sting like thorns along his spine. He wants to bite at Aphrodite's glow until only his own marks remain, _he_ wants to be the god possessing him, him and no one else. He'll be better, so much better than all of them combined. 

(Zagreus won’t ever want to leave again.)

“ _Than_...” 

Thanatos growls into the red-bitten rings now adorning Zagreus’ shoulder. His name sounds provocative, inappropriate escaping Zagreus’ gasping mouth. The suffocating want that trickled down his core now floods his lower body, presses at him from the inside out. He hears his heart clearly now, and it’s screaming.

Zagreus steps back, away from the puddle of their clothes. Thanatos follows without a thought, tethered to him by the tongue. When Zagreus draws him back in he whispers, propositions and promises, his silken breath like wildfire on Thanatos’ skin. He doesn’t sound like himself, but it’s alright - neither does Thanatos, the near-pained noise that escapes him when Zagreus’ hand moves between his legs. 

He can’t stand it for long. Zagreus yelps with a playful giggle when Thanatos purposely trips him, makes sure his hand catches his head before it hits the ground. His knee pushes Zagreus’ legs apart, stretching the disheveled robes stubbornly holding on to his blushing body. Seams snap and fabric frays, but Thanatos can’t hear it over the pounding of his pulse, over the loudness of his need to strip Zagreus bare.

Unwrapped and uncovered, Zagreus is more of a paradise than the fields surrounding them. Splayed fingers rub the perfume off his skin, pluck the feathers from his wreath and beneath him Zagreus gasps and keens, fitting himself into Thanatos’ hands. His strong thighs go soft when Thanatos kneads into them, knees falling open, inviting him in.

And Thanatos should stop, pause to think things through. How can he, though, when Zagreus’ cock swells in his grip, when the noises he makes drip like oil onto his flame. Zagreus’ hands are oddly steady when they thread through Thanatos’ hair, tugging him up to kiss his open mouth.

He can taste the pleasure on his tongue. Zagreus twitches as he fucks up into his fist and Thanatos curls his fingers tighter, pumps down to meet his bucking hips. Zagreus throws his head back, moans and for a small, secret second, Thanatos hopes they can hear him up on Olympus - just so they can hear who he belongs to. Hear who loved him first. 

He wants Zagreus to say it. 

And Zagreus does say it, cradles his name between rasping breaths, but Thanatos wants, needs _all_ of Zagreus to call for him, not just his swollen lips. He wants Zagreus to wear _his_ blessings, carry _his_ keepsakes, he wants to pour so much of himself inside of him that they’ll never be apart again.

Sweat and spit is not enough and yet Zagreus sings for more, hums and heats for Thanatos’ hands as they work to pry him open. It’s messy and it’s rough, but Zagreus won’t let him stop. He rubs up against Thanatos’ trembling fingers as soon as he takes pause, taking him back in, the velvet fever inside of him a promise. (And Thanatos is breaking.)

Meeting Zagreus’ lidded eyes, Thanatos knows he’s lost. It may be Zagreus trapped under him, but he’s the one who’s caught. One moment of clarity would be enough to free him, to snap them both out of this lovestruck haze, but logic does not live here anymore. Just love, love, _love._

And Thanatos goes stupid for it, stupid for the sight of Zagreus raising up his knees to spread his shaking thighs. When Thanatos sinks inside of him the friction pricks like sunlight, the pressure bites at his worn-down restraint and his skin barely contains him, so great is his desire for them to become one. To bury himself so deep inside that there’s no going back.

Zagreus takes all of him, a hot glow burning high on his cheeks as his body stutters with the force of Thanatos’ thrusts, wet lips parting wide with silent cries. Thanatos leans over, kisses his gasping mouth, licks at his tongue to taste the sound. He feels Zagreus’ moans spill from his throat into his own, and he swallows them, swallows him whole.

Zagreus’ head tips back, his chest rising from the mess of petals beneath them until the curve of his spine resembles a waterfall. Thanatos dives in, loops his arms around Zagreus torso and pulls him up into his lap. Zagreus melts around him, grasping and clinging at Thanatos’ shoulders as he fucks the air out of his lungs.

Thanatos feels his whispers before he hears them, the damp heat of Zagreus’ breath stirring the pleasure that pools in his groin.

“Escape with me,” Zagreus breathes, his words separated by Thanatos’ increasingly erratic rhythm. “You and me, _nnh,_ nothing else…”

 _Yes_ , Thanatos thinks, though Zagreus’ approving moan betrays he might have hissed it out instead.

“Stay with me,” Zagreus continues. He sits up a little, and uses one hand to lead Thanatos’ face into his neck. He brushes his lips to the shell of his ear, his hips moving in little, maddening circles on Thanatos’ cock. “Fight for me.”

Thanatos growls, low and needy against the lovebites coloring Zagreus’ skin. Being with Zagreus forever... he wants that. He wants to love him, feel him, fuck him like this until time collapses around them. Let the mortals end themselves, let his hands belong to Zagreus alone.

“I need only you,” Zagreus promises breathlessly. “Come with me, we’ll want for nothing more.”

“Zagreus,” Thanatos moans, no longer content to let Zagreus do the work. He pulls back slightly, shifts his weight forward and allows gravity to ease them back down to the ground. His lips brush Zagreus’ forehead as he drives his cock back inside.

"Thanatos," Zagreus pleads.

"Anything," Thanatos' muscles burn as he speeds his pace. "You'll have anything you want." 

"You," Zagreus answers between breathless gasps, blown pupils fixed on Thanatos' heart as if he sees inside. "Give me all of you."

Thanatos shivers, breathes in the scent of Zagreus' hair as he barrels towards the edge with no intent of turning back. Zagreus holds him close, moans for him, and that's all Thanatos needs. He comes hard, teeth latched to Zagreus' throat, pushing into him deep as the rush of his pleasure takes hold of his body. Zagreus' hands helplessly rip up the grass beneath him, weak to the sensation of Thanatos filling him completely, claiming him from the inside out.

The last little shocks of Thanatos' hips raise goosebumps on Zagreus' glowing skin. Thanatos traces them with his tongue, his head a dizzy mess and his heart finally quiet. Zagreus fingertips tremble as they cup Thanatos' face. He smiles, and Thanatos thinks he says something too, but the world goes dark before the sound reaches his ears. 

*

Thanatos wakes to an aching body and crushed rosebuds in his hair. Elysium is silent as Zagreus sleeps, easy and peaceful at his side. A few steps away Thanatos recognizes parts of his armor, dejectedly waiting to be given purpose once more. 

Trickling, memories return to him. Zagreus grinning from atop a pillar. Chariots crashing to the sound of his laugh. His sticky-sweet kisses. His body, a treasure for Thanatos alone to take. Soft, pink lips, promising him forever.

But now it smells like wilting flowers. His skin feels cold and damp. There's a gnawing behind his ribs, something dark and hollow, and it grows stronger the further he moves from Zagreus' sleeping face. Reaching for his clothes, something sharp scratches Thanatos' hand. A single, perfect rose sits caught within his cloak. 

_His_ cloak. Thanatos slowly looks to Zagreus, who turns over in his sleep.

There's nowhere love can't reach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there she is.
> 
> as always im humbled by the love, please accept this E rating as a token of my appreciation (when can i kudos comments, please, i have so many hearts to give)


	5. marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, isn’t it Zagreus they want? 
> 
> (That much, at least, Thanatos understands.)

Thanatos waits for Zagreus at the usual spot, but Zagreus does not show. He finds him in the courtyard, flitting by the window like a newborn butterfly, unsure if his wings will carry him. He freezes when he sees him. Thanatos wonders if this is what Zagreus feels whenever he employs one of his unannounced exits. One wrong move and he's gone.

"Zagreus, wait."

Unexpectedly, Zagreus waits. Quiet. More afraid than Thanatos has seen him in a long time, or possibly ever. But he waits, and that's enough. That's all Thanatos needs, right now.

"You're angry," Zagreus says. Thanatos can't deny it. He recalls Aphrodite’s roses coloring his vision like a pink film clinging to his eyes, like oil on water, and it feels dirty. Wrong.

"I am," Thanatos confesses, "But not with you."

"Half of me," Zagreus interjects. He sounds hurt and it breaks Thanatos' heart. "You're angry with half of me." 

The part that doesn’t belong here. The part that wants to leave. The part that shifts shapes during each escape. The part that charmed him, almost kissed him into defying his lord and master, the part that wrapped around his heart and squeezed until it hurt.

He knows it wasn’t Zagreus’ fault. None of these things are Zagreus’ fault. But they could, no, they _should_ have been avoided. 

Soft bruises freckle Zagreus’ bare shoulder and the sight feels cold and guilty in Thanatos’ stomach. He looks miserable, and Thanatos wants nothing more than hold him, comfort him, tell him everything will be alright.

“I just want to keep you safe,” Thanatos says.

“You want to keep me,” Zagreus counters. 

Thanatos goes quiet.

“...I need to go,” says Zagreus, his voice a shattered whisper.

Hovering in place, Thanatos watches as Zagreus turns and leaps through the window. And Thanatos lets him go (because he still can't make him stay).

*

Thanatos shouldn't follow Zagreus. He knows he shouldn’t. If their last meeting was anything to go by, Zagreus is compromised enough. The last thing Thanatos wants is to endanger him further by suddenly shifting in and making things (more) uncomfortable. If anything, this whole mess has shown Thanatos that it’s better for both of them to mind their own business. Maybe that’s just the way their relationship works. Maybe that’s the only way it will work at all.

Which doesn’t necessarily have to be a negative. At the very least Thanatos would be able to get to all of his neglected responsibilities. Gods know there’s been a lot, but he just can’t seem to focus. He feels his mother’s endless eyes on him as he haunts the house’s halls, pacing, wringing his hands.

_You want to keep me._

Zagreus is wrong. This isn’t about keeping him here. It’s about his safety. His worrying lack of self-preservation. It’s not just hurting Zagreus anymore, either. Thanatos got pulled in now too, too deep to keep his head above water. He can’t just ignore this.

Maybe he’ll check the courtyard again. Look at Zagreus’ keepsakes. Thanatos could try to figure out which god will be vying for Zagreus’ attention this time around, and decide what the appropriate amount of worry is from there. Even in his mind this plan sounds shoddy, but it’s the only plan he’s got. He tells himself it’ll help clear his head and it’s not a lie, not really, because he won’t know unless he tries.

(It’s not like he hasn’t been taking liberties with truths, either. Zagreus is the kind of person to mess with one’s long-held beliefs, the laws they’ve lived to follow. Falling in love with him has been the biggest exercise of self-reflection in the entirety of Thanatos’ existence. The deepest, scariest trust fall, of which the end is yet unseen.)

He feels like a trespasser, standing in front of Zagreus’ ornate glass cabinet without having specific business there. Thanatos’ opinions aside, these shelves are filled with tokens of favor, intimacy and vulnerability, meant for Zagreus alone. He shouldn’t intrude on something so personal, but after everything that's happened, it’s become personal for Thanatos too. Zagreus is a vortex, his heart so wild and powerful that it pulls in everyone around him. Sometimes Thanatos thinks it isn’t Zagreus who is attempting a futile escape. It’s lord Hades, desperately trying to hold onto any semblance of order while weathering Zagreus’ tireless storm. 

Lost in thought, Thanatos nearly forgets what he came here to do. He looks over Zagreus’ keepsakes, only to find he can barely identify half of them - and even then it’s hard to tell. The few he’s sure about are those he temporarily confiscated in the recent past, with a few exceptions (his mother’s shawl, Cerberus’ old collar and, of course, the keepsake he gave to Zagreus himself).

Belatedly, Thanatos realizes he wouldn’t even be able to tell if a keepsake was missing. It's not as if he's familiar with Zagreus’ entire collection. He doesn’t know which Companions Zagreus owns either, aside from his own little Mort, currently staring back at him as if it knows something Thanatos does not.

Wait.

Mort is here?

The only way Thanatos managed to not immediately run after Zagreus since their confrontation earlier was knowing Zagreus would call if he needed him. But if Mort is here, he won’t. He can’t, not even if he wanted to. Not even in an emergency. Thanatos curses under his breath.

What now? Maybe Zagreus just needs someone else, needs to be alone and that’s all there is to it. But no, if their time together has taught Thanatos anything, it’s that Zagreus makes the stupidest of his decisions when he’s trying to consider someone else. (It’s a flaw they seem to have in common.)

He doesn't give himself the time to change his mind. Thanatos carefully takes Mort from the cabinet and tucks him away, then shifts out in search of Zagreus.

*

Zagreus took Artemis' arrowhead. Not because he planned his escape around her blessings, but simply because he doesn't want to risk running into Aphrodite. Not now. He feels far too defenseless for her piercing stare, her eerily accurate observations.

He understands Thanatos’ anger, of course. It’s nothing he doesn’t feel himself. 

Waking up alone after their meeting in Elysium was awful. Thanatos’ cloak covered his glowless skin like a blanket, but all Zagreus felt was the weight of guilt over actions that weren’t even his own.

Well, mostly.

Truthfully, Zagreus thinks that part of him wanted what Aphrodite gave him, even if she seemed to have granted his heart’s wish with a dangerous amount of oversight. It’s been that way with all of his relatives, so far, Zagreus realizes when he thinks back. When Ares turned his hands to blades, part of him _wanted_ revenge, wanted blood of a different hue. Poseidon and Dionysus too. There’s just no way for the gods to reach him so deeply if nothing inside Zagreus reaches back...right?

Maybe that’s what it means to be family. Zagreus carries a part of them in his flesh and blood, whether he wants to or not. Without that, he’d be unwhole.

But rather than trying to explain these feelings to Thanatos, Zagreus chose to run away. Again. He drove a knife into the most painful place between them and left before Thanatos could say a word. Now he’s got even more to apologize for and this time, the fault is entirely his own.

Then, Artemis finds him. She tells him he's not alone. That some hunting will set him straight, that she's there to help. Her gentle voice does not ask any questions, does not fill his mind with suggestions. She simply hands him her arrows, watches him shoot and Zagreus, without saying a word of his predicament, feels understood in her presence. 

They hunt together, and Zagreus finds truth in Artemis' words. His head does indeed feel clearer, his body less sore and his heart less heavy. His loneliness is tolerable when shared with her. It's refreshing, accepting divine blessings without feeling their power encroach on his thoughts. By the time the Hydra falls Zagreus even dares to feel hopeful. Power without consequence feels achievable in Artemis' hands.

The next room he reaches feels oddly quiet. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but his reprieve is short-lived. Light blinds his eyes as Zagreus comes face to face with two messages, both seeking to be heard. Artemis on the left, Zeus on the right. 

Zagreus hesitates. 

He's drawn to Artemis, the arrowhead in his possession all but pulling him towards her, but Zagreus can't shake this uneasy feeling at the sight of her green glow. Each of the blessings he currently carries are gifts from her, and while he does not yet feel her dominating his spirit, perhaps all it will take is one more. Maybe it isn't something either of them can control.

So he chooses Zeus.

But what strikes him isn't lightning.

*

Thanatos follows Zagreus' red thread through the underworld's layered mazes and thankfully, it only takes a little bit of searching to locate him. His energy is quiet, but it's there, stalking rather than submerged. Thanatos assumes the quiet stems from Mort's absence on Zagreus' person.

Past the Hydra already, it seems. Maybe Thanatos is imagining things, but recently Zagreus appears to be moving faster. While Thanatos much prefers Elysian encounters over Asphodel’s fire, Zagreus' accelerating pace makes him feel...nervous. How long before Thanatos' visits start slowing Zagreus down, rather than speeding him along? How long before he won't be needed anymore? Forcing himself to put such thoughts aside, Thanatos finally pinpoints the right room. The first thing he hears after shifting in is the whistling of arrows.

"Watch out!" Zagreus calls. 

Before Thanatos can figure out what's going on Zagreus jumps in front of him, catching three arrows with his chest. Thanatos freezes in horror as he watches what should have been Zagreus' death, only for Zagreus' to _will_ the blood back inside of him in a show of death defiance even dreams would find surreal. His pained grunt and a murmur of _that hurt, dammit_ is all Thanatos gets to explain how Zagreus just managed to dodge a bloody death (though he doesn't seem to have dodged the bloody part).

"What just…" Thanatos tries, but it isn't over yet. Arrows shoot towards Zagreus, emerging from the ground like a reversed rain, denying him the time to answer Thanatos' unfinished question - let alone the questions he has yet to ask.

For a moment, Thanatos thinks this is it. A declaration of war. The Olympians are finally showing their true colors. They are done messing around with blessings and have moved on to taking Zagreus' life for sport, instead. Artemis keeps him on his toes, the frequency of her attacks seeming almost calculated to prevent Zagreus from lining up shots of his own. There are so many arrows Thanatos can't tell which belong to Coronacht and which do not. Though Zagreus can't afford to stand still, Thanatos still sees enough of him to know he's bleeding and fatigued. 

And there's nothing Thanatos can do to help.

His shield protects only himself, and there is no enemy for Thanatos to eliminate. These arrows may be guided by divine aim, but they are still just that. Arrows. Objects. And Thanatos can't kill that which does not live, no matter how vivid its image. All he can do is watch, watch as Zagreus steps a desperate dance through the room, Thanatos’ scythe idle in his hand, his sword mere decoration on his hip.

He doesn't get much time to process his uselessness. The number of arrows lodged between Zagreus' ribs is sickening to see. He slows, stumbling with what little energy remains, a dead man walking. So why is Artemis still firing? How is it that she is not yet satisfied? How can a Goddess so gently-described house such destructive wrath?

Surprisingly quiet for the pain he must be in, Zagreus manages to meet Thanatos' dread-stricken gaze. A different kind of pain shows on his face for just a second, and then he collapses.

Thanatos nearly fails to catch Zagreus in time before his bloody mess of limbs feeds the soil. His body feels warm, as it always does, but Thanatos can tell it won't stay that way much longer. Distant, he hears the river. He gathers Zagreus closer. Something stings behind his lashes and yet he can’t look away as life slowly drains from Zagreus’ features. Thanatos has seen Zagreus near death, after death, so alive it hurt his eyes but he's never, ever seen him die.

"Hey now…" comes Zagreus' ragged voice, as if nothing’s wrong between them, as if they’re passing each other in the lounge on a quiet day, briefly touching hands, "Don't look so sad. I'll be back before you know it." 

He gives a weak smile that tears through Thanatos in ways arrows never could. Then his eyes close and he’s gone, both his body and the arrows piercing it dissolving as Styx drags him out of Thanatos’ arms, and into the dark.

Left alone in a company of ghosts, Thanatos surveys the crushed butterflies and spilled blood littering a now silent battlefield and for once, the quiet is uneasy. He should go, get back to work. Time does not wait for Zagreus’ revival, but for some reason Thanatos can’t bring himself to move. It’s as if everything inside of him just...stopped. He wonders if this is what mortals feel when he comes to take them home. It hurts.

His bones feel too heavy. It's odd. Thanatos deals in nothing but death and yet he's never had a reason to mourn anything. He knows better than anyone that death is just another journey, rather than the end. Even now, Thanatos knows it won't be long until the pool of Styx returns what it took and Zagreus will be back, breathing as if nothing happened. Dying so frequently, a carefree attitude seems almost necessary, if only to keep oneself from giving up on life altogether.

But Thanatos is not the one constantly reborn, nor is he carefree. How could he be? Zagreus died in his arms and there was nothing he could do. Few moments in his immortal existence rival the feeling of failure now tugging at his conscience. To think that all this time, Zagreus perished alone in a world which continuously erases all proof of his existence. It screams of a loneliness difficult to imagine, but this is what Zagreus lives.

Thanatos feels something sharp against his palm. He looks down to find Artemis' arrowhead. Zagreus must have dropped it when he fell. Gritting his teeth, Thanatos squeezes the metal between his fingers. He imagines returning the keepsake to Artemis herself. He pictures himself delivering it to the hollow of her throat. Bring an end to immortality with a single slice of his blade. 

A convulsing hunger stirs inside, waters his teeth. A restlessness that tells him to give chase, to track down the ones responsible for Zagreus’ suffering, to flood Styx with their blood. He can smell it, the fear of their final moments, the peace that will follow - the thrill of the hunt.

It wouldn’t help at all. Thanatos doubts he’d even be capable of such violence, but these feelings, they seem so real. Thanatos regards the arrowhead and remembers roses.

He thought himself immune. Over and over he intervened, diving headfirst into the storm to drag Zagreus out. After all, isn’t it Zagreus they want? 

(That much, at least, Thanatos understands.)

But now, he hears howling amidst rustling leaves. He feels it hum under his skin, and he knows what those whispers mean. It was naive of him to think he could safely pull Zagreus from the flames. He may not have been burned, but smoke has reached his lungs. 

And soon they’ll both catch fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont really enjoy writing angst. sometimes its necessary, though. 
> 
> thank you all so much for the love and encouragement, its been keeping me going through a Rather Challenging month - i hope i can keep making you happy, too.


	6. pierced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really doesn’t get more powerful than that.

By the time Thanatos returns to the house, Zagreus is long gone. He expected as much but the emptiness still stings, made sharper by the meaningful look Megaera shoots his way as Thanatos strides past the lounge, into Zagreus’ abandoned room.

He didn’t get a chance to return Mort when last they met, not a moment of peace to do anything but witness another end to Zagreus’ life, such as it is. Standing by Zagreus’ unmade bed, Thanatos considers tucking Mort between the sheets for him to find when he returns.

Then, Zagreus calls for him.

Confusion only comes after a flash of panic, visions of an arrow-pierced body draped lifelessly in his arms. (Because how is Zagreus’ voice so clear when Mort is right here, with Thanatos?)

Thanatos arrives into a snowy night, reeling from how fast he forced himself to shift. Zagreus stands by the water. Fluffy flecks of frozen clouds melt around him as they fall. Feeling the cold reach up to touch the soles of his feet, Thanatos hovers just a bit higher as he glides to Zagreus’ side. They watch the moon’s reflection ripple and break and were this any other time, Thanatos would have scolded him by now, berated him for calling when he clearly has no need of his assistance. Now, however, it’s...comforting, being near him when the last thing he saw was Zagreus’ painful death. Without the distraction of battle, the tricks and traps of the underworld’s seemingly endless mazes, Thanatos can focus on nothing but Zagreus’ energy, a dazzling warmth that both repels and draws him in.

It’s so overwhelmingly reassuring just to share the same air. Watching Zagreus die changed something. Receiving his struggling smile as Styx embraced him was sobering in ways Thanatos could not have anticipated. It’s disturbingly simple to grow used to immortality. To take for granted the way in which Zagreus can simply shake the blood from his hair and move on. If Thanatos were in his place, perhaps he would be equally daring with his own infinite supply of lives. Something, anything to experience a little bit of freedom.

But Zagreus’ quest for freedom isn’t the problem. Thanatos has learned by now that truly, the brand of aid Zagreus accepts is not the problem either. The only real problem is Thanatos himself. His hands ball into fists. He should say something. Anything.

Zagreus breaks the silence first, staring longingly at the moonlit darkness stretched out above them. "Wish I could fly." 

Thanatos is certain if Zagreus had wings, he'd never touch the ground again. Just to make up for lost time. He wants to say he'd miss him should he take to the skies like that, but the cold seems to have frozen his tongue.

“Hey, Than,” Zagreus then says, carefully glancing towards Thanatos, “Do you notice anything about me?”

 _Notice anything?_ Thanatos blinks and allows himself to look at Zagreus properly. 

He stands tall, a post-battle flush still high from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears. The perpetually shedding leaves of his wreath disintegrate around him like dying stars. His eyes are bright, victoriously reflecting the snowscape surrounding them as he meets Thanatos’ gaze with something proud yet insecure. Something seeking affirmation. 

Lower, Zagreus’ chest rises and falls, calm and strong. Not a single bruise nor scrape mars him and his clothes betray no hidden wounds. There is no blood, except for the blood which runs inside of him - for once he wears his red on the right side of his skin. Snow melts around his feet, creating the illusion of water carrying his weight.

Stirring as it is to see Zagreus like this, powerful as the god Thanatos knows he can be, he is unsure what Zagreus wants him to find. The answer to that question becomes clear when Zagreus carefully produces a keepsake from the inside of his robes. A perfectly preserved butterfly, pierced by a single silver pin.

“Oh,” Thanatos breathes out, a familiar warmth flaring out between his ribs.

Gently, Zagreus strokes along the butterfly’s delicate wings. The little bug seems to come alive under his touch, the way its colors brighten to the touch of his thumb. Thanatos feels it as if Zagreus touched him instead.

“I’m getting stronger, I think,” Zagreus says. Thanatos knows he is. All of these too-close calls with the Olympians now fall like puzzle pieces into place and the picture they create shows Zagreus, but stronger. Zagreus, made whole. He’s acclimating to their power. He’s making it his own. “That’s not to say I won’t mess up anymore or anything…”

“Zagreus…” 

“It’s difficult keeping up sometimes, you know?” Zagreus sighs, looking down at the butterfly in his palm. “Everything is moving and changing so fast and I can’t prepare for any of it. Just have to keep going. Until I make it out.”

“The world you aim to reach is no less changing,” Thanatos tells him, though he knows the warning won’t change Zagreus’ resolve. Nothing will. “Perhaps even more so than the one you’re leaving behind.”

“I look forward to it.” Zagreus hides the butterfly close to his heart and turns his gaze back to the moon. ”...I belong here,” he says. “Not in the underworld. Not on Olympus, but right here. I know I do. I’ve never felt anything as strong as this.” Briefly, he looks at Thanatos. “Except, well, what I feel for you.”

Thanatos blinks, stunned into silence by Zagreus’ candid confession. 

Zagreus notices, because of course he does. “Sorry,” he says gently. “Too much?”

If he opens his mouth his heart might escape, so Thanatos just shakes his head. The moment between them is fragile and raw, a hesitant sheet of ice forming over still water. Snow slowly blankets lily pads, kisses white flowers goodnight. Thanatos can’t help but marvel at the beauty with which Demeter wields her death.

"I...I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused," Zagreus says after a moment of silence. 

“You owe me no apologies,” Thanatos answers.

After all, wasn’t he the one who refused to wait any longer? Wasn’t he the one who stubbornly stuck by Zagreus’ side, insisting to offer him support even when Zagreus told him he’d be fine alone? He volunteered into that fire, and then complained it burned. He gave his heart to Zagreus with the intent to lift him up, not anchor him down.

All of this…it isn’t Zagreus causing trouble. It’s Thanatos trying to find his place in Zagreus’ new, ever-evolving life, and fearing there’s none left. Fearing what that would mean. He is so tired of being afraid. Or, at least, of being afraid alone. Quietly, Thanatos makes a confession of his own:

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Zagreus doesn’t answer, not right away. Not before Thanatos sees a weighted breath move through his body, sees him look to his burning feet, then back up. Thanatos stays quiet, unsure what to do with his heart now that he’s laid it bare. Whether or not he should take it back before it freezes over.

But then Zagreus turns towards him. He moves up on his toes, grabs Thanatos’ shoulder and tugs him down just enough to kiss his lips.

It’s unbearably soft. Thanatos forgets to lower himself to the ground, forgets to reach for Zagreus’ hair, forgets to do anything but feel the warmth of Zagreus’ mouth pressed up against his own.

When they part, and the world becomes real again, Thanatos remembers Winter as it falls in crystal drops around them. Now, his hand finds the soft spot at the start of Zagreus’ spine, fingertips pleading for him to stay close. Zagreus' breath is warm as it mixes with his own, misting the space between them. He feels his lips move as he speaks.

“Let’s never find out,” Zagreus whispers.

Thanatos is terrified. He’s terrified of his feelings, of the longing in his heart. He’s terrified of the future giving him less than what little he has now. He’s terrified, and he knows Zagreus must be too but standing here with him, melting snow between their lips, Thanatos believes in who they are together. 

Wrapping his free arm around Zagreus’ waist, Thanatos lifts him up off the frozen ground. Zagreus smiles into his kisses.

And carefully, shy as a secret whispered in the dark, Thanatos dares to feel excited for a future unrevealed with the one he loves the most.

*

Zagreus’ collection of keepsakes is impressive. Thanatos finds himself distracted examining them all. To the naked eye they look no different from ordinary trinkets, lucky charms perhaps, simple objects the dead often keep on them in the grave.

Maybe they are. Maybe it’s Zagreus that makes them hold power. Maybe the influence Thanatos felt didn’t come from Olympus at all, but from Zagreus. From the ribbon that fasts their hands.

They put Mort back in his spot together. Zagreus gives its little head a quick peck before he closes the cabinet’s doors, and Thanatos pretends he isn’t jealous. He fails.

“You’re scowling,” Zagreus observes, a smile teasing his lips. 

Thanatos scoffs. “I am not,” he lies. When Zagreus moves in, he opens his arms to receive him.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zagreus says, relaxing in Thanatos’ embrace, “I should give you something of mine, too.”

“Please don’t,” says Thanatos. “My shelves are crowded enough by all those Ambrosia bottles you keep saddling me with.”

Zagreus tilts his head. “You keep those?” 

“Of course I do,” Thanatos says, like it’d be preposterous to assume otherwise.

Zagreus seems pleased. “Well, I kind of meant something you could take with you, y’know. Remind you of me.”

“There’s no need,” says Thanatos.

“But I want to,” Zagreus insists. “I’ll think of something.”

Thanatos knows arguing further won’t change a thing, so he decides to simply enjoy the pensive look on Zagreus face. The way he gets distracted when Thanatos threads his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t need a keepsake from Zagreus: he’s already got a permanent place in his thoughts. 

Besides, he’s got Zagreus’ heart. It really doesn’t get more powerful than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end.
> 
> we made it! writing this has been fun and challenging in many many ways. im so incredibly grateful for all the love this story has gotten.
> 
> ive made a companion playlist to go with this fic, which you can find on my twitter [here](https://twitter.com/dust_static/status/1238106771857776640)
> 
> thank you so much for reading. lets meet again soon.


End file.
